Ghost in Binary
by Confiscated Retina
Summary: Pre-game. Her mouth parts on what he assumes is an exhale, but he is sure he can just barely hear words over the start-up hum of the transfer. "I don't want to do this, Mr. Johnson."


**A/N:** This is my Portal Secret Santa gift for notafilmnoirheroine on tumblr, who likes smart human Wheatley and pre-game fics. :)

* * *

**Ghost in Binary**

Stephen is thinking about the damnable personality core again. It's not an opportune time to be thinking about it, surrounded by the bustle of technicians and medical staff preparing for the most ambitious personality transfer to date, but he just can't help himself.

Everyone on his team had been required to participate in core creation, from mousy Ashley, the programmer who'd somehow spawned an adventure-seeking chauvinist named Rick, to the neurosurgeon whose subconscious was apparently obsessed with space. Fantastic machinist though he is, the less said about the paranoid Doug's dubious cake recipe core, the better.

Some smartass on Stephen's team thought it would be funny to give the idiot core that had spun off his subconscious just enough awareness to remember his name, or at least the part of it everyone in the facility uses. They eventually put the blasted thing in the relaxation vaults so they didn't have to hear its constant chatter. The damn machine has alternately startled and annoyed so many members of maintenance that nobody will go down there anymore.

It isn't the constant talk or the near-perfect mimicry of his speech patterns (right down to the accent) that upsets Stephen about the core. Over time, it had become very apparent that the transfer of a human personality into a machine has a disturbing knack for recording the biological subject's deeper subconscious traits. Instead of picking up on the technical skills which enabled him to create the code for mapping the essence of humanity into a machine, the damn thing had instead been infused with Stephen's childhood tendency to have an idea and wish to try it out before thinking it all the way through. More maddening still, it talks about every last digitized thought that passes through it. The device is still a great source of amusement to his colleagues and a continuing source of irritation to him. Try as he might, Stephen can't get the wretched sphere off his mind, pre-transfer procedural checks be damned.

The double doors just behind the emancipation grid, sole entrance to the lab's inner sanctum, fly open with a bang. Ashley, halfway inside the GLaDOS chassis, yelps in surprise. Stephen jumps at his keyboard next to the gurney and turns to see the approaching intruder. He flinches at the sight of her.

Not unlike her predecessor, Caroline has a way of drawing all attention toward her when she enters a room. It isn't just that she is head of the company, hand-picked for the position by Cave Johnson himself, and thus everyone's boss. There is an aura of determination and vigor about her, as if she knows she controls every last thing in this facility right down to the air each staff member breathes.

She is outpacing the two lab techs scurrying behind her. Even in bare feet and a backless hospital gown printed with ludicrous blue logos she is the model of stern dignity. Her shoulders are back and her short, steel-gray hair fans out around her face like the halo of a vengeful angel. Stern eyes give Stephen a quick once-over before she sits on the gurney.

"Well?" Caroline barks at the nervously quiet staffers scattered throughout the room. "Let's get this over with. I have a meeting in three hours and science isn't going to do itself."

There is a sudden flurry of activity. Medical technicians smear mustard yellow antiseptic over the ridges of Caroline's spine and apply a general anesthetic. She doesn't even flinch as the series of cables are plugged into her skin, circles of red quickly wiped away with sterile gauze pads.

Swallowing, Stephen turns back to his terminal to do a final systems check. He flashes the amber optical light of the huge machine to make sure the connection is sound and takes a deep breath. This is all fairly routine for him and his team, but their boss being the one on the table makes everyone a little nervous. He takes a deep, calming breath as Caroline is gently lowered onto the gurney, cables feeding through a padded narrow slot in the bottom.

"Are you ready miss, ah, miss..." Stephen's dry mouth is getting the better of him.

Caroline arches a brow at him, eyes steady and resolved.

"It's just that this bit, ah, stings a little."

Her brow is beginning to lower into a disapproving glare.

"Right, then. Here we go."

With a nod from the neurosurgeon and a thumbs-up from Ashely by the connection point of cables and machine, he hits "enter". The faint metallic sound of cable pins darting through flesh and into bone makes him wince. Caroline does flinch at this, hands curling into tight fists at her sides, jaw set as she breathes sharply through her nose. Her mouth parts on what Stephen assumes is an exhale, but he is sure he can just barely hear words over the start-up hum of the transfer.

"I don't want to do this, Mr. Johnson."

He's sure it's just his imagination, some weird combination of nerves and machine sounds. Anyway, it's too late to stop now. Stephen's fingers fly over the keys, eyes following lines of command prompts that have long since become familiar. For the first time the GLaDOS chassis comes to life of its own volition, a growing yellow light adding color to the contrasting shadows and sterile white lights of the lab.

Something makes a loud shuddering noise and a woman's voice yelps behind him. Stephen blinks at his screen, sure that it's just the jitters making him see something unexpected. At first he doesn't hear the low, animal sound coming from the gurney.

With a shriek of metal and a cacophonous crash, the GLaDOS chassis violently jerks away from the scaffolding which holds it in place. The giant machine pivots like an angry beast scanning its surroundings, the light casting a baleful yellow tinge on everything it touches. Text blurs on Stephen's console, going by too fast for him to read. He is trying not to panic when a howl from the gurney makes him jump.

He whirls to see Caroline arched against the padding, the tendons of her hands standing out as she digs her fingers like claws into the yielding surface. Her lips are curled back over vicious teeth, mouth open in a scream of rage. Her stern face is contorted with hate and her eyes are glowing an eerie, unnatural amber.

Amidst shouts of confusion and the clatter of equipment a sinister hiss fills the background. A haze of green begins to creep down from the upper wall air vents. Someone screams.

"Oh my god!"

"Shut it down, shut it down!"

Someone is standing in Ashley's place, over her inert shape, ripping cables out of the chassis in a panic. The machine twists violently, trying to shake him off. A bubbling, snarling hiss escapes Caroline.

Stephen is paralyzed, watching a slow trickle of blood ooze out the corner of Caroline's mouth. When Doug crashes into him he remembers where he is, _who_ he is and slams his shaking hands down on the keyboard. Somehow he manages to type the abort sequence.

Suddenly the lab is quiet. Emergency fans kick in to clear the gas. Everyone seems frozen in their places as the mechanical hum of electricity ebbs and the amber light dies.

Shaking, Stephen turns around to see Caroline silent and still, the yellow glow fading from eyes that stare at nothing. Her body is fused in that arching, animal posture, a thin trail of red staining her gray hair on the pillow. All he can think is that the personality transfer was at 98.3%.

He'll never think of the personality core bumbling about in the bowels of the facility again.

* * *

Gasping, sweating, Stephen bolts upright at his desk in a dimly lit cubicle. His hair is greasy and uncombed; there are dark circles under his eyes. He doesn't sleep well these days, reliving the events of Caroline's death every time his eyes fall shut. He has taken to staying late at the lab, scavenging processed snacks from vending machines in dark, deserted hallways. Sometimes he catches sight of Doug, looking every bit as ragged as himself, scurrying through the dim corridors.

The company seems to be marching forward unhindered by Caroline's absence. It seems she really did think of everything, even the inevitable. Stephen can't help but admire her after the fact.

It is this unexpected spark of admiration, combined with a wellspring of guilt, that brings him back to his terminal bleary-eyed each night. He's looking for her. Somewhere in the code he spent years writing is all that's left of this woman. Perhaps if he can find her Stephen can apologize for being complicit in her death, and then maybe the nightmares will stop.

Thus far his efforts have been fruitless. Exhausted beyond measure, he staggers to his feet and begins to wander. The facility is eerie at night, devoid of all life and its lights dimmed as a cost-saving measure. His footsteps echo off thin gray carpet and narrow white walls. Not paying any attention, he finds himself stopping in front of a door he avoids whenever possible, a cold shiver juddering down his spine. Meaning to turn away, Stephen enters his security code and turns the doorknob.

GLaDOS hangs inert from the ceiling, the glow off the emancipation grid faintly silhouetting the shape of it. Stephen swallows and steps more quietly, as if he is in the lair of some sleeping monster. He edges toward the terminal next to the red phone, a position he and a number of his colleagues have manned over the course of several terrifying attempts at another start-up. Someone must always be on call to trigger the emergency shutdown when the inevitable blast of neurotoxin begins to fog the lab.

The computer screen is blank and Stephen stares at it, hypnotized by the blinking green cursor at the top. Unable to think straight through his exhaustion, his hands come to rest on the keyboard and he finds himself typing:

/Caroline? Where are you?/

/Here./ scrawls in front of his eyes. /Who is this?/

He blinks.

/Stephen /

His hands shake so badly that he misspells his own last name.

/It's about time someone showed up./

/Miss Caroline I'm sorry for what happened. I didn't mean/

The keyboard stops responding to his fingers as more words interrupt him.

/Stop. It's done now. I need your help./

/Anything. Whatever I can do./

/Good./

* * *

She wants to delete herself. The idea upsets him; why would anyone who has at last achieved the illusive dream of humanity, immortality, want to give it up? It feels like he is taking part in a suicide, but he can't deny her anything, not when he feels responsible for the first part of her death.

By day, Stephen does his weary work adjusting code, drafting ideas for future improvements to the transfer process, taking his shift at the emergency shutdown phone whenever another incomplete start-up of the GLaDOS chassis threatens the lives of everyone in the facility. By night, he does other work trying to deconstruct and rewrite a program he spent a decade building.

In between nightmares and snatches of sleep at the terminal and feverish bouts of coding, he talks to Caroline. Stephen is now her only confidant and life inside the wires seems to have put a new perspective on some things for her. She is not afraid to divulge to him the truths that Cave Johnson was a madman (a fact suspected by all who knew him) and that she indulged his insane whims as a means to an end: the acquisition of the most groundbreaking scientific company on the planet. That she has spent most of the last several years as company head trying to salvage it from the damage done by her deceased employer seems to be her only regret. Caroline never hesitates to remind him that she shares these secrets knowing that he will die long before any use can be gleaned from them. He has a lingering, unsettling suspicion that her personality transfer was far more precise than any before it and that the contempt she bears for him and, it would seem, all of humanity, was always a part of her, hidden under a veneer of calculated professionalism.

In exchange for his tireless efforts to fulfill her last wish, Caroline has promised him freedom. At the next start-up, no matter what else happens, he will walk away from the facility for good. In his exhaustion, this is the thing that sees Stephen through. He has begun to see the facility as a trap, a tomb, and all he wants, desperately, is to escape.

* * *

/Is that it?/

/Yes. The program will run on the next start up. You'll still be in there, but you won't remember anything./

/Good./

/I can leave, then?/

/I've already told you it will happen. Moron. How long until the next run?/

/A few hours./

/You should get some sleep./

* * *

There is no one else in the lab with him. Traditionally, it is the first room to be flooded with neurotoxin gas whenever the machine is powered on. With Caroline's personality safely encoded, there's no need for anyone to be in here save whoever has been chosen to man the emergency shutdown phone.

Over the intercom system Stephen hears Ashley going through the pre-start-up checklist with the rest of the team. He draws a shaky breath and rubs absently at his bloodshot eyes. When the go ahead is given, he hears the familiar hum of electricity powering up the machine and flinches instinctively, waiting to hear the hiss of gas overhead.

As promised, nothing happens. Stephen glances at his terminal to see the new program running as planned. Over the intercom someone begins to scream. A sound like faint static fills the background, the hissing of gas leaking into the facility proper. He tunes out the sounds of panic and choking coming from the overhead speakers.

In the room beyond the emancipation grid the air is clean and lit by a yellow light. The GlaDOS chassis moves slowly as if it's waking up, stretching new and unfamiliar limbs. Stephen walks toward it feeling cold inside.

Months from now he will be in a plane flying across the country when he realizes that day was the annual Bring Your Daughter to Work event. The stewardess will hand him napkins and pat his shoulder, a worried and sad look on her face as she helplessly watches him cry. Years after, when he is successfully working for his old company's chief competitor, he will come back to find the parking lot of the facility the way he left it. Wind will blow over abandoned cars and he will try not to imagine what lies beneath his feet. He will have nightmares about this place for the rest of his life.

Now, his eyes lock with an amber optic. Stephen lifts a hand to brush his fingers over cold white metal.

"Caroline?" his voice is hoarse and small.

"Go," hers is alien, mechanical and firm.

A blue-edged portal opens in one wall, its iridescent halo framing green trees and a blue sky over textured asphalt. He steps into a warm morning breeze without looking back.

**End.**


End file.
